


A Walk in the Park

by dippkip



Series: A Walk in the Park [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint is Steve's dog, Dog!Clint, M/M, Natasha is Tony's, Steve and Tony are both awkward and they love their dogs okay, dog!Natasha, they're actually dogs it's not a wierd kink thing I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dippkip/pseuds/dippkip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has become completely besotted with the handsome stranger he's been seeing in the park. Maybe he should actually try asking the guy out one of these days instead of admiring him and his horse of a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk in the Park

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this story, Clint is a Yellow Lab and Natasha is a Borzoi. Here's some reference pictures if you aren't familiar with the two breeds.  
> Clint: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/26/YellowLabradorLooking_new.jpg  
> Natasha: http://in1.ccio.co/sB/J5/n8/236509417901229264DlKixeUmc.jpg

He was back again.

Though Steve supposed that shouldn’t be surprising anymore. He’d been coming to this park for the last few months now – not that Steve was keeping track. Because that would be creepy. It was just…hard to _not_ notice the man, never mind the dog he was always walking.

Because for the last few months now, every time Steve took Clint down to the park to play fetch, he would see this handsome stranger casually strolling by with a deep red Borzoi at his side. They looked like something that should be on the cover of a high-class fashion magazine. His hair was always artfully tousled, his unique goatee immaculately trimmed, and his suits _had_ to be custom – they hugged his figure entirely too well. He usually wore sunglasses, but the few times he’d taken them off informed Steve that he had he had bright, whiskey-colored eyes.

Steve was (in Peggy’s words, not his) completely smitten with this suave stranger. The man could be sauntering along, blank-faced and looking for all the world like a bored supermodel one minute, then the next he would be crouching down next to his dog with the softest look on his face, giving it full-body rubs and softly murmuring to it. And really, anyone who liked dogs had to be a pretty decent person, as far as Steve was concerned.

However, despite being so enamored with the guy, Steve was convinced that this was all there would ever be to it. After all, a man that attractive _had_ to have someone waiting for him at home. Steve had decided weeks ago that he would content himself with getting to see the man almost daily. His friends tried to encourage him to put himself out there (well, those were Sam’s words – Bucky said it a bit more like “If you’re too chickenshit to ask him yourself, _I_ will ask him on a date. With me. Not you. I don’t care if I’m married Steve, if you’re gonna let a guy that hot walk away from you every day, it’s my _duty_ to take your place,”), but Steve always dug his heels in – no need to set himself up for failure, after all.

Maybe he should just stop talking about this guy when he was with his friends. They’ve officially dubbed him “The Guido” in lieu of his actual name (“This guy sounds Italian, Stevie. He needs a fitting name,”) and now Steve can’t help but call him that in his head every time he sees the guy. Steve shook his head, letting those thoughts fall away as he took in the man’s choice of attire.

Today’s suit was charcoal grey, with a red shirt and a yellow tie (never let it be said that the guy wasn’t ostentatious), and his sunglasses rested on his face, as usual. The Borzoi walked alongside him at a sedate pace, never pulling on its leash or suddenly darting to the edge of the sidewalk to investigate something (as Clint was wont to do).

He only managed to drag his eyes away from the sight the pair made when Clint flopped into his lap, dropping a sopping tennis ball onto Steve’s hand where it had been propping him up in the grass.

“Sorry buddy, didn’t see you get back” Steve grinned, rolling Clint onto the grass and scratching his belly. The Yellow Lab wiggled happily, responding with an energetic bark.

Steve let the dog get back up before tossing the ball across the grass again. When Clint took off after it, his gaze was slowly drawn to the Guido again. The man had settled down on a bench and was deeply engrossed in something on his phone, while the Borzoi made itself comfortable on the ground at his feet. He absentmindedly scratched the dog’s head a few times without taking his eyes off the screen.

 _‘One of these days,’_ Steve thought to himself wistfully. He returned his attention to Clint as the Lab raced across the grass and proudly dropped the ball before Steve. He tossed it again and successfully managed to refrain from looking at the Guido for all of 10 minutes as he continued playing fetch with Clint. Granted, it wasn’t his fault that it was only 10 minutes – the Guido had gotten up and continued his stroll, which took him down the sidewalk just next to Steve.

A few passing ducks chose this moment to descend into the pond on the opposite side of the sidewalk, causing Clint to stop dead and drop his ball. Steve froze. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, Clint had an absurd fondness for birds. But, being the energetic little guy he was, he usually expressed this by charging at them and making as much noise as possible. Steve could see the disaster even before it happened, but wasn’t quick enough to advert it – Clint made a sharp turn and dashed at the waterfowl across the sidewalk, heedless of potential obstacles, and collided with the Guido, who gave a surprised yelp to match Clint’s as the two toppled over.

Steve was on his feet in an instant, racing to the tangle of limbs and fur in a panic. _‘Dammit Clint, this really isn’t the way I wanted to start a conversation with this guy.’_

He grabbed Clint’s collar and pulled him off, setting him down and pinning him in place with a firm “Stay” before turning back to the flustered stranger, who was sitting up and blinking owlishly. His sunglasses had been knocked off his head, and his dog didn’t appear to have moved during this entire debacle – it was sitting patiently nearby, but did nothing to check on its owner.

“I’m _so_ sorry about that, he just gets so excited when he sees birds, are you okay?” Steve fretted, crouching in front of the Guido and checking over his body a few times looking for any sign of injury.

The chuckle he got in response was warm and rich and _oh no, he wasn’t allowed to be this attractive, dangit._ “I don’t think ‘excited’ covers it. Last time I saw a dog move so fast, Rhodey had dropped an entire pork roast,” he remarked.

Steve felt his face heating up, but tried to ignore it so he could focus on forming proper sentences. He managed to ask again “Uh, yeah, but are you okay? You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?” There, that was acceptable. Steve was about to mentally congratulate himself, but a fair bit of brain function shut down again when the stranger smiled.

“I’ve had worse. My ass may be sore for a day or two, but I don’t think that’s fatal,” he easily replied. His grin slowly became something closer to a leer as he added “Unless you’re offering to kiss it better, in which case, I’m in excruciating pain.”

Steve knew he must be completely flushed by now, but before he could begin to form an adequate response, his vision was blocked by a mass of red fur. The Borzoi lightly nipped the tip of its owner’s nose and huffed, almost as though it was reprimanding him. The man laughed again and scratched her behind the ears.

“Yes, that was rude and inappropriate of me. My deepest apologies your highness,” he teased, his grin widening when the dog sniffed and turned away. His eyes lifted to meet Steve’s again.

“Sorry, rude and inappropriate is kind of my default mode. The name’s Tony, and this lovely lady is Natasha,” he said, grandly gesturing towards the Borzoi, which seemed to straighten upon hearing her name.

Steve grinned in response, trying to keep it from looking too dopey, as he stood up and offered Tony his hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Steve, and the mutt here is Clint,” he said, casting a teasing glare at his own dog, who was making the most pitiful face he could.

Tony laughed again as he took Steve’s hand and pulled himself up. “Cut the guy some slack, Steve, he doesn’t seem so bad. Tasha seems to approve.”

Steve turned to look back and saw that Natasha had approached Clint and was sniffing the Lab inquisitively. Clint seemed to be waiting for her approval, practically vibrating in place trying to contain his energy. When she finally stopped and gave his muzzle a gentle lick, he dropped onto his stomach and tried to entice her to play with him. His efforts weren’t met with much success, as Natasha just watched him jump and roll around her.

“Wow, I don’t know the last time I saw her get along so well with another dog,” Tony muttered.

Steve’s eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. “You call that getting along?”

“Well, she’s actually paying attention to him. Normally she’ll just ignore any breathing thing within a 10 foot radius,” Tony elaborated, rolling his eyes.

Steve just nodded in response, letting a comfortable silence settle around them as they watched Clint romp and Natasha brood. _‘Come on Steve, this is perfect. Just casually ask if he wants to get lunch or something.’_

Just before he could force the words out, Tony gently cleared his throat.

“Well, it’d be a shame to go our separate ways too soon. I haven’t found another dog yet that Natasha liked. Maybe we should go to – well, I know this place, it’s nearby, nice little café, they let you sit with your dogs on the patio, and sometimes I go there with Tasha after her walk, they make great espresso, and. Well. Would you like to go have coffee? There. With me?”

Steve could hardly believe it. The man that he had come to think of as the picture of composure was fumbling for his words, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, and _asking Steve out on a date_? He realized he’d been staring a bit too long when Tony began fidgeting and, oh, when had he started talking again? Steve focused in time to catch “ – don’t _have_ to, of course, I mean, it was just a thought, I totally get it if you’re busy or just not interested, really, I’ll get over it, I just thought – ”

“I’d love to!” Steve blurted before he could stop himself. He flushed a bit as Tony’s jaw snapped shut and his cheeks darkened, but he forged on. “I mean, I’d love to go get some coffee. With you.”

“Oh,” Tony replied faintly, “That’s…good. I’ll just – ” He gestured vaguely towards Natasha.

“Yeah, lemme go grab his leash and…yeah,” Steve responded, shuffling back to the tree where he’d left his things. His face was burning, but he couldn’t help but smile once his back was turned to Tony.

Today was shaping up to be pretty good after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Calling someone a Guido basically means they're excessively Italian and macho.


End file.
